Page 37 of Trigger Happy Ending

But it’s the focal point which makes me pause.

A crucifix travels down the length of his sternum and across the width of his chest, with a demon nailed to it (okay, maybe he’s not a Satanist?). “Memento Mori” is tattooed across his collarbone. Latin for “remember you must die.”

Christ, I’m staring.

He smirks, sets the weights down, thumbs at his phone to lower the music, and rises to his full six-foot-five height. He wipes his face with a towel, slings it over his shoulders, and hooks his thumbs into either end.

“You gonna stand there and pant, or are you going to join me?”

“Using my words now?” I said those same words to him the night of my first shift. “Original. And no.”

“No to the panting, or no to the workout?”

“No to both.”

“Well.” He licks his lips. “You’re staring, baby.”

My mind short-circuits as I snap my jaw shut. Baby?

I shrug my shoulders and pretend I’m totally fine and not melting on the inside. “Maybe don’t cover your entire body in tattoos if you don’t want to be stared at.”

“Here.” Soren moves a few steps towards me. “Have a closer look.”

Against my better judgement, my eyes drop to his body and stay locked on the sculptured V disappearing below his waistband. That is one rollercoaster ride I definitely don’t meet the height requirements for.

“You smell.” I shove him playfully if only to push the temptation away.

He chuckles softly, and the sound makes me grin.

I like his laugh, and I realize I might like making him happy more than I like making him angry.

“What do you want, my little green-eyed monster?”

“I came to tell you about last night. Senator Wilson made an appearance.”

“Good. Did you hear anything worthwhile?”

“Considering I planted a listening device in the private room, yeah, I did.”

His eyes round. “Smart move. What’d you hear?”

“A lot of bullshit, but also … this.”

I pull my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and play the audio. I lined it up so he could hear the part about PARM-17.

“Okay. Good to know it’ll go to whoever has the deepest pockets. Which will be us.”

“Well, it’ll be you undercover.”

He nods in agreement and ruffles his hair. “So, how’d you get close enough to plant a listening device?”

I tip my hip and flick my hair. “With the power of persuasion.”

His eyebrows raise. “Persuasion?”

“Would you rather I call it seduction?”

We stare at each other for a few seconds. Or has it been minutes? Time is bending and swirling and not linear for some reason.